Today I want to talk about a genre that I think is underemphasised when we talk about literary art. As I have been thinking about it and trying to write some pieces over the last few days, I have become so enthusiastic about it that I wanted to revisit it. Today’s topic is haiku, a genre of poetry brought to the world by Japanese Literature.
In this article I will look at the subject from a slightly different perspective. Before starting the article, I thought about the following questions: “Why is it a less common genre?” and “What kind of meaning and uniqueness does its difference from recognised poetry structures give it?” I would like to share with you the things that came to my mind. As these are my own conclusions, they may not be accurate.
Haikus must be composed of three lines. The syllable structures that must be present in each line are also specified. In other words, it is a genre that must be performed according to a set of rules.
As you know, Far Eastern philosophy in general is famous for its quiet and calm structure. So much so, in fact, that some of these teachings have either been implemented throughout the world, or have been engraved in the mind as a temporary period.
Because of this disciplined structure, I do not find it strange that they follow certain rules when composing their poems; on the contrary, the essence of poetry, as we are taught, lies in ease and sincerity. Could it be that such a structure of haiku has made the genre strange or unpopular?
Perhaps it is more fruitful to ask, first, whether the fact that it is written within certain constraints prevents us from travelling to a comfortable and sincere world of thought? Of course it is important to be able to think and write freely, but could there be an advantage to these rules?
When I think of Far Eastern philosophy, I think of bald monks in orange robes. Maybe that’s not entirely true and maybe we believe what the media shows, I don’t know. But what I want to talk about here is the emphasis on the community of people who come together with the urge to achieve inner peace, accompanied by various meditations. The tranquillity of the environment, the control of emotions and repeated disciplined training…
Couldn’t the characteristics that this philosophy creates in a person be reflected in art?
There is a saying that is universally accepted and found in many cultures, but is very difficult to apply to oneself; think a thousand times, say it only once. In this saying I see the essence of Far Eastern philosophy. In fact, according to “information” I heard when I was young, but which to me is still an urban legend, some of the monks I mentioned took a vow of silence. Some of them would never speak, but others would only say a few words a year. Of course, for a whole year they would listen to themselves and express what they valued most.
Although the long, rhyming words performed in the West seem aesthetically pleasing and free-spirited, they can appear to be nothing more than incessant bursts of inner echo. Haiku, on the other hand, are like fragments in which thoughts are absorbed inwardly and only those deemed necessary are communicated outwardly.
That’s why haiku are like compressed poems. Although not everything is said, they seem to have a nature that can talk about everything. This form, consisting of correctly chosen words, is far from the verbosity of other poems. Moreover, it sometimes encourages one to think, because thoughts come into play where words are insufficient.
We said that a little can tell a lot. So we may not be as limited as we think. So why does it have a structure that avoids rhyme? The original haiku ended with an ABC structure, words that did not rhyme. Nowadays they are written with ABA and even AAA rhymes. I wonder if we don’t think about things enough anymore, or if we can’t express ourselves the way we want to. Could this be one of the reasons why it can’t hold its own in a world that is drifting, rushing and going downhill? Or is this new structure just a reflection of different thoughts brought about by the passage of time?
If I think a lot and write only three lines, I can find suitable rhymes. But the spirit of haiku doesn’t allow that. But why not? I decided to look at it the other way round.
If you think about it the other way round, rhymes can actually feel like chains. They’re visually marvellous, I can’t deny that. They offer a satisfying structure in terms of both appearance and pronunciation, perhaps that’s why they’re popular. But at some point this repetitive structure can also lead to monotony.
I think the main situation here has to do with how we perceive art. Perhaps the Japanese, at least, did not feel the need to shape what they had to say when they put themselves in their narrow but free frames. Perhaps they wanted to emphasise the dissimilarity of thought.
We too can use poetry and haiku to express our imprisoned selves, our thoughts and feelings ready to explode.
Photo by Dingzeyu Li on Unsplash
In the 16th century, the travelling poet Matsuo Basho, who became famous as the best interpreter of the haiku genre (three centuries ago it was performed in a very long form and orally — oral poem — ), which later took its current form, first changed and developed the perception of poetry in Japanese Literature, and then inspired other famous writers around the world. His last words were another haiku.
tabi ni yande / yume wa kareno wo / kakemeguru
sick on my journey / my dreams go wandering / on this withered field
He spoke of his death with the fading of the roads he had travelled and composed his last piece.
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